Theft of a Hustler
by Bloodyx3Massacre
Summary: #49 of mattmetzger's Snapshots. Ianto's got an ex from old Torchwood One days that comes calling after their bad relationship ended demanding him back. Jack is not pleased. Meddling!AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Blah. Writer's block has killed me. So I went reading about for ideas and BAM! I found mattmetzger. Can I hear an amen? I went knocking on an email box and got permission to snag some of these fun and exciting little tidbits. But now they are MONSTERS. Pure evil! They're like tribbles. You feed them and they MULTIPLY INTO MAN EATING MULTITUDES. So this story will probably end up being a two shot. If that. Maybe a story and a half? I don't know. And it is not beta-ed. Anyway, I HATE Mary Sue's or John Doe's, but unfortunately this will probably land in one of those shitty AUs where they pop out of the wood works like fucking ants. Not there one minute, but biting the shit out of you the next. Fuckers. Anyway, comments, reviews, complaints, asking where the nearest liqueur store is, tin cans with bits of string are always welcomed. Enjoy. Or not. And no fucks were given today.

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><p>The warning came unexpected in the form of a black and blue bruised survivor of Torchwood One. There were only a few, the same amount as the fingers on one hand, that were allowed to return to a semblance of a normal life after the battle at Canary Wharf. Two of which Ianto kept in touch with regularly, one that sent an old fashion postcard once every three months or so, and one that he never wanted to see again. <em>Ever<em>. One who, in his personal opinion, should never be allowed to walk free like a normal, sane person.

He was lucky this time. _Very _lucky. Greg Heath was an ex-guard that ran the lower level security around the Archives of Torchwood One, who pulled late night shifts so he could spend time during the day watching his daughter grow up. Ianto would pass a witty comment every so often to the guards he passed whenever he was on the outside layers of the maze-like Archives. In return, Greg and Ianto made a bond almost at once between jibes and coffee; when the machine would break down and the guards as a whole would cry as if the world was ending. With a few months of sociable interaction, a new archivist had locked himself in a vault and set off the alarm. Jaime Gray was a little older than Ianto and as flamboyant as a piñata. He was waving his arms wildly while Greg had snagged Ianto and two other archivists to open the security lock from the vault and as the doors opened, flung himself onto the nearest body, which happened to be Ianto. Since that day, the three of them had become a sort of Three Musketeers passing gossip and bitching down at the local about the higher ups. However, after Canary Wharf, the three agreed to split up and settle down into a 'normal' life as best as they could incase Torchwood ever rebuilt and went looking for past survivors to recruit.

So seeing Greg with an eye that _hurt_ worse than a gimp leg without Vicodin was quite a surprise. More so that he showed up unannounced at the Tourist Office during the day. With a Weevil. In the back of his rented Mercedes. And Jamie blaring Ricky Martin in the passenger seat. "Got you a gift!" Greg was smiling like a juvenile ten year old even though he was pushing forty five.

Ianto had Torchwood One's strict charter and rule book memorized like the Mötley Crüe knew their tour songs, and allowing two ex-members into a working facility was strictly forbidden. If he actually thought about it hard enough, technically _he_ too was an ex-member. It's not like he could really transfer from an organization that wasn't there anymore and if _he_ couldn't transfer than there was no way that, now a head of a private security firm and a personal secretary of some CEO, could possibly do it _while_ trying to keep normal jobs. It wasn't like they could write down Torchwood as their last place of employment let alone _explain_ what it was to their bosses. At least he could sneak the two down into the Hub without the team knowing since they were out on some pointless tracking mission for space junk.

With a mock sigh of exasperation, Ianto beckoned for Jamie to join them while turning to Greg with a stoic face, but with playful sarcasm lacing his words. "The _least_ you could do is be a gentleman and carry the damn thing for me if you're not going to put a bow on it."

It wasn't humanly possible, or at least Ianto didn't think it was until he met the man, but Jamie _frolicked_ into the Tourist Office with all the dignity and grace of Disney related princesses in ball gowns the size of mid-size Sedans proclaiming how his latest boy-toy was now his newest Prince Charming, making Greg groan how this new bloke was a _God damn_ _pansy ass git with more fashion sense than brains_. Ianto was still waiting for flowers or hearts or theatrical lighting to appear around the man in some sort of blinding aura of love, peace, and free sex.

"I'll bet ya, mate, twelve quid that this bloke do'sn't last any longer than the one who talked like that 'Merican bird with the _Friday_ tune." Greg replied in thick Irish as he studiously held the door open for Jamie and wandered back to the car, where he pulled the now unconscious Weevil and hefted it over his shoulder. Ianto snorted at the man's strength and the cliché idea of Greg, a typical Irish bloke, just hefting another bag of potatoes over his shoulder. He rolled his eyes at how much he sounded like Owen.

The two of them left quicker than Paris Hilton from jail after depositing the Weevil, which he found out from Jamie that Greg had smacked it in the head with a shovel from the boot of the car, which in turn made Ianto wonder why Greg had a shovel in the boot of a rental car, but decided against asking, into the cells. But before they left, Ianto had found a cold beer abandoned in the kitchenette's fridge to put on Greg's black eye after making a snide comment to _duck_ next time.

Unfortunately, that's when the atmosphere got awkward. Jamie plucked at Ianto's tie and Greg decided finders-keepers with the beer.

"Well you see, sweetheart, the brute over there didn't quite get that from the Weevil." Jamie started as he ran his hands up and down Ianto's suit, whether to straighten it for him or feel him up, Ianto wasn't sure. "It's actually why we decided to come see you, honey. As much as we'd like to get back together and have loads of adulterous fun," Greg rolled his eyes, reflexively pointing to his marriage ring, "We actually came to warn you." Jamie's hands and eyes were running over his body, checking either the stylist of the suit or how much Ianto had been working out. If he had to guess, it would be the former. Now if Jamie's hands head south, that would be another thing altogether.

Ianto raised an eyebrow in response, smacking Jamie's adventurous hands every so often and instead looking to Greg for the quick rehearsal of the story. Greg shrugged with one shoulder as he chugged another gulp from the disappearing beer can, "Ran into Kane a few days ago at a local in London. 'Parently, the little shit has found a way to track us down and he's hot on ya tail." Greg looked at the ground solemnly, "The sonovabitch got me thrown right on out of that pub. I had a liken for it."

Jamie huffed of a man long suffering from his mate's status of, and Ianto died from hysterical laughter the first time he heard it, _not evolving from a Neanderthal that scratched in public, had the emotions of a barbarian, and thought that everything, including relationships, can be fixed by a can of WD-40._ "You can find another one of your dank little caves with other brutish men who pound their chests in victory over a sport and drinks piss from glasses the size of milk jugs." Jamie settled his hands around Ianto's as if he might get down on one knee. "What King Kong is trying to say, is that Kane is trying to find you and win your amazing crystalized prism of a heart back since his life is dull without the colour yours holds."

He didn't know if he wanted to run home, pack all his belongings, and head to New Zealand claiming he was a long lost relative of a sheep herder in a village no one could pronounce nor care about and that he was a servant of the Church, but secretly was a male escort on weekends to keep up with his monthly payments to his drug dealer or else face the consequences of working at a brothel with submarine duty. Or, stockpile as many dangerous weapons into the Archives with trip wires and booby traps that would make the Saw films look like a walk in the woods with Bambi and friends while adopting the same mindset of a Cold War veteran who digs holes in his yard for bunkers and believes that the mailman is actually a Commie bastard who reads Pravda on his porcelain throne, laughing at Capitalism, and declares loudly that Vodka does indeed fix _everything. _

After taking multiple deep breaths and seeing that the two made it out of the Hub alive while gossiping about how their lives were going and how Dan, the other somewhat _normal _survivor, had hermit himself away on the edge of some quaint village with enough postcards and cats to live for the rest of his life comfortably until the price for postage rose to that of petrol one day.

Ianto crumpled into his chair in the Archives like a marionette without strings before he thought about his situation realistically. Kane Smirnov was a fairly tall, God damn giant in Ianto's perspective, Russian man who worked as a liaison between Torchwood and UNIT back when Torchwood One stood. He had become Yvonne Hartman's pet with the way he could manipulate anyone to his will with a few simple words and a look; _the_ look. People who knew the man called it the _look of Stalin._ Behind his slim, towering figure was the same fierceness of the Soviet Union and with the same power backing him up in his unseen, but surely felt muscles. Kane rounded up files of interest to UNIT from the Torchwood Archives and gather alien tech that peaked Yvonne's terrible curiosity.

When he looks back on it now, he can't understand why he would date such a potentially dangerous man, but knew that it had to do with an intern manhandling an alien weapon in the Archives Research room and being slammed then rolled into a protective cocoon out of the way. Kane had basically wrapped his entire body around Ianto and, like a roll cage, took the force from the impact of the floor. A few lunch dates and meeting at pubs and romantic serenading with flowers and notes and chocolates at work waiting for him or on his front door to his apartment, and the two had become a couple, ignoring the warnings of Greg and Jamie and Lisa, who he later met and became good friends with, in his ear. Kane seemed to be an angel; Rough Russian accent with gentleman qualities of old and a romantic streak in him that many women's romance novelists could only fictionally dream about.

However, that was before the two of them decided to move into a small flat not too far from the Torchwood One tower. Two weeks into their new little flat, and the Soviet-like beast arose from the dark. What Kane wanted, Kane got. He became overbearing, treating Ianto like a kitchen wench that did his bidding and when denied what he wanted, abusive; emotionally and physically. Kane was rough in his manner, words, between bed sheets, and love. Even the smallest smile from a stranger made Kane highly possessive. Ianto liked it in the beginning when Kane would get protective of him and almost animalistic when possessive, but once it got to the point where Ianto couldn't even _look_ at another person even when talking to them, did he became angry.

Over three months later, when Jamie and Lisa had caught him early in the Archivist's bathroom in the back putting on skin correction lotion to hide a nasty bruise on his cheek, did he finally step back to view the mess. That evening, Jamie, Lisa, and Ianto packed up his belongings from the flat with Greg standing as guard at the entry way and carried it over to Lisa's place. It had gotten nasty between the two men to the point that the Inter-Department Security and Human Relations had been involved and a restraint put on Kane, sending him back to UNIT. But now that Torchwood One was gone, nothing stood in Kane's way besides the hard work Ianto had done to cover the tracks of the remaining Torchwood members to make them disappear from anyone looking.

He rubbed his tired eyes and locked himself for the rest of the day down in the Archives until the rest of the team, sans Jack of course, went home, only coming out for one more round of coffee and some notes for Tosh. Tosh being Tosh must have figured something was wrong, not that the deleted CCTV from earlier wasn't a dead giveaway, since instead of a thank you, he was given a friendly hug.

Pulling off his tie and suit jacket as he went up the stairs to Jack's office, he uncaringly dropped them wherever. He flung his waistcoat over the railing to land somewhere below among the clutter on Gwen's desk. Without a care in the world, he unbuttoned the top two of his shirt and untucked it from his suit trousers. Trudging into Jack's office, he spun Jack's chair, with Jack in it, around to efficiently plop down into Jack's lap with a huff.

Jack being Jack put two and two together to get seven thinking that a partially stripped Ianto in his lap was a gift from God which would lead to some _very pleasant times_ until Ianto hid his face in the joint between neck and shoulder and powerful arms ensnared his shoulders. Jack always forgot how strong Ianto actually is under the professional suits and the calm demeanor, but whenever he is reminded of the hidden power under tidy clothes and artful masks, Jack envisions a sleek big cat, graceful and majestic until angered with large claws and mighty jaws. It made Jack shiver.

Brushing his fingers up Ianto's spine to rub circles between his shoulder blades, Jack placed his lips against Ianto's ear, whispering softly, "What's wrong?"

Ianto huffs a breath that plays hell on Jack's senses of _angelic boyfriend _to_ dirty lot lizard._ Patiently waiting for Ianto to form the words that he normally spits as if rehearsed, Jack starts to wonder if he forgot something. _Left the stove on? _He isn't allowed near the oven that doesn't have a pilot light or made from cast iron. _Forgot a dinner date?_ No, because he would have found half a dozen sticky notes in Boeshanian all over his sleeping space and boxer drawer. _An anniversary? _They never really had any and if they did celebrate, Jack was usually the one who instigated it. _Oh God, another ex-?_

"'m gonna stay in a hotel room for a bit." Ianto whispered back. It was more lip reading _with his neck_ than hearing the words.

"Why are you going to do that?" Jack started frowning. "You could just stay here."

Ianto went silent again, just breathing and holding tight. Jack shifted him in his lap so he could try and see his face, but only succeeded in jostling Ianto to the point he bit down in warning. "C'mon, Yan."

"An ex is in town and-" Jack groaned before Ianto could finish.

"Oh shit, I knew it. Look, I'm sorry and I'll deal with it as soon as I can. All I need you to do is tell me what they look like and I'll-" Ianto bit down again, harder this time gaining a yelp from Jack.

"My ex, Jack." Jack stared at the wall as he tried to process the news. _How the fuck_ could Lisa be back? She was dead. Like, dead _dead. _Like, Risen Mitten-proof dead. Which meant…

"Who?"

"No one important." If Ianto kept getting quieter, he might as well start doing sign language or learn telepathy.

"But why are you leaving your flat because of an ex?" Jack normally thought ex's weren't that bad. However, he had in the past once or twice skipped planets to avoid his, but Ianto didn't have that luxury nor should his ex be _an alien from another planet that ate doors to enter places they should not be._ Which had to mean that something went _bad_. So bad that it would rival picking up your stuff and moving into a too small hotel room on a too busy street with a too uncomfortable bed. That relationship went _way too fucking bad_ if Ianto isn't even considering he is a licensed gun holder who had to be born with a gun in his hand.

"It went bad at the end." The sound of defeat and loathing and utterly complete _I rather be eaten by cannibals_ made Jack step back to re-evaluate his idea of bad. This had to be _the world is ending, I just married Satan's spawn who breathes fire, lost my pathetic job of flipping burgers, am now a eunuch due to my monster-in-law, and my dog just got sick on my new couch. I am now going to go lay in the middle of traffic, kthxbye._

"What was bad?" Jack swallowed.

"Everything. Everything was bad, Jack. The relationship, the situation, bad news, bad break-up, _badbadbad man._ Everything." Ianto's voice fluttered up and down over the words as Jack remembered hearing about telephones and tin cans with bits of string.

He repositioned Ianto into a favorably more comfortable position in his lap as he pushed the chair back so the two of them were reclining nicely. Feeling the two arms tighten as if thinking Jack was going to get up and the press of a sharp eye tooth in his shoulder as warning, he returned his arms around Ianto's waist and touched his cheek to Ianto's temple. Minutes passed in the tensed atmosphere, but Jack's curiosity won out and he was expecting the cat to die, but he wanted to know.

"Why was he bad?"

Ianto's shoulders jerked as if laughing or crying or both. "Bastard thought he could knock me around. He thought I'd play his little kitchen wench that stayed at home and would hang by his every word as if he was God or something." Ianto laughed dryly. "Can you believe that shit?"

Only in his wildest fantasies that Jack would _not mention on penalty of death._ Many, many deaths. And maybe torture. Watching children's musical television shows type torture for every waking minute of the day. And night.

Jack responded by tightening his arms. Someone dared to hit _his_ Yan while posing to love him? Growling deep within his chest that had to reverberate into Ianto, he asked simply, "How long?" _So I can make the bastard suffer that long._

Silence was his only response. Deathly silence.

He quickly bent his head down so that his teeth grazed Ianto's ear and his arms became bounds, whispering fiercely, "How long, sweetheart?"

"We lived together for about three months or so." He furrowed deeper into Jack's neck and shoulder.

"How long ago was this? What does he want? Why is he here?" Jack quickly stepped into the role of interrogator with Ianto as the witness.

"Christ, Jack, I don't know! We were together back in Torchwood One. He wants to patch things up again. Get his little foot maid back. I don't know. One last fling? Here to demand another roll in between sheets. I just don't know and I'm not finding out." Ianto shook his shoulders now, definitely not in laughter. His body shuddered and remained relaxed. It made Jack's blood boil at the thought. _His_ Yan in bed with another _man_ who physically _hurt him. His_ Yan. "No, Jack. Don't. Please. Just… Just stay away. Stay with me."

Jack could never go against that broken tone Ianto used when he felt defeated and dead. Tucking the younger man up into his arms, Jack carefully stood up making sure to support all of Ianto's weight. The young man deserved a more comfortable bed then what Jack's sleep space offered, but for now it would have to do. With practiced ease, Jack got them both down his ladder with one arm and Ianto still coddled in his hold safely.

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><p>In the twilight hours of the morning, he decided that Ianto wouldn't leave the safety of the Hub until the <em>threat<em> was taken care of, so he would have to run over to Ianto's flat to pick up his daily necessities. Leaving the man in _their_ bed wrapped in blankets and surrounded by pillows, Jack snuck out like a shadow.

Once arriving at the flat though, alarms rung in his head and his hair stood on end. The door was slightly ajar and no sounds were heard. He pulled his gun out of its holster as he silently counted to five and tapped the door open further. Poking his head into the hallway, nothing seemed to be out of place. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, careful not to get any of the floor boards to creak under him. He sensed the incoming danger before he could see it, but by that time, he gun was knocked to the floor and he had a powerful forearm pressed to his throat against the wall.

"Privet! You are not the one I am looking for." Furious blue eyes drilled into Jack's. He was so close that Jack could see the lilac specks in them in the dim light from the hallway outside the flat. The man's face moved closer and sniffed him near his neck. "Ah, but you smell like my little sparrow." The eyes narrowed.

Jack growled and tried to fight the hold, but was too tightly pressed to make a difference. "How did you get in here?"

The man shrugged. "Little bird had taught me some tricks he picked up as a small one. Come now though! We have not made formal introductions." The pressure on his throat increased. "Hopefully my little sparrow has better taste in men than those with no manners."

Jack tried to lunge again off the wall just to be slammed back into it. He barred his teeth with a rumble making its way from chest to throat. "He is _not_ yours and you're one to talk about manners."

The pressure was making it hard to breathe and the glint in the other man's eyes promised a violent outcome. Smirking, the man leaned closer, invading Jack's space, "Ianto Jones belongs to me and you had better run away and never look back. Because," And the man jammed a knee into Jack's abdomen, "I will make sure I get back what rightfully _belongs to me_." He jerked Jack into the end table's lamp, sending him across the floor in a shower of glass. Jack was too busy gasping for air and pain to reply, "My name is Kane Smirnov and I am here to take my _property_ home. I will find my Ianto, with or without hurting you further. Your choice."

But by the time Jack pushed himself up, the man was gone and a calling card lay on the coffee table. A single red bird decorated it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well, it was a little later than I thought, but eh, same day deadline counts for something. I dunno if this is as funny as the last, but it's still got its humor. Humor. No extra 'u.' Got two more coming soon too. Most likely only one-shots. All typos are mine too. Not beta-ed. And if they seem OCC, my bad. If my Jack is overly protective, then I like a badass Ianto that pushes Jack's possessiveness. Like tattoos and leather and piercings, badass Ianto. Now that is hot. Back on track, this chapter is the last of Theft of a Hustler, but not the end of the AU, which needs a better name. I don't like Meddling!AU. It needs something flashy and stylist, not Scooby-Doo-ish. Even though I love Scooby-Doo. Remember, all credit goes to mattmetzger, who I hope I pleased with this story and made him proud. Reviews keep me going, otherwise I'll quit. Low self-esteem, people, c'mon. Nah, kidding, but seriously. Review. Do it. Then get in the chopper.

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><p>Jack knew he was going to be in deep shit. In his defense though, it wasn't like he <em>knew<em> the crazy bastard would be waiting in Ianto's flat. Even if that would be a logical thought when related to _insane, crazy, abusive, pushy, Torchwood One, ex-boyfriend._ Jack just never had the thought processes of a typical 21st century man. Yet, he knew that Ianto would be pissed. It wasn't even the death of a hideous lamp that would make the Welshman angry, nor the fact that his flat was _broken into_. He would get in trouble because his non-dying ass didn't tell anyone else where he was going when possibly entering a dangerous situation. _Which made no sense to Jack._ He believed that the whole immortal thing would be a great reason to send the non-dying person into the most dangerous situations. However, infallible 21st century logic denied that.

After collecting the basics in a duffle bag and feeding the Devil himself, wearing orange fur with claws, Jack made sure the door was secure. Bastard must have picked it. Which means Ianto knew how to pick locks. Jack had to remember to see if he could pry out what other naughty things Ianto knew from his 'darker' side of life. He grabbed the duffle bag full of street clothes while forgetting the suits laid out on the bed as he took off back to the Hub. He'd have to make a mental note about getting a new lock for the door or an alarm system put in.

Driving as if he were in Death Race, he made it back to the Hub hoping it was before Ianto would stir. At least if the man was still groggy, he wouldn't get ranted out for being at risk, even if he didn't stay dead, just to fetch Ianto some clothes when he had some stashed in Jack's drawers without Jack really paying attention. Just like how Jack stashed some clothes, among other things, at Ianto's flat without, or so he thinks, Ianto knowing. Although, Ianto knows everything, so it was unlikely. He might even miss the threat of decaf.

Taking the steps as quietly as possible, Jack dropped the duffle bag in his office before realizing he left Ianto's suits. He promptly cursed under his breath and rubbed at his eyes, trying to forget what had happened this _ridiculously_ early morning and remember anything else he could have possibly forgot.

"Too early." Jack was startled as two arms wrapped around him. The familiar presence pressed against him and the warm puffs of air against his neck was reassuring.

Spinning around, Jack tapped the loose arms around his waist to resettle around his neck while tugging the younger man into the warmth of his greatcoat he hadn't put up yet. "You should still be asleep where it's warm." Jack started to slowly sway them in place as Ianto pressed his nose to Jack's throat. He took delight in noting that Ianto had shrugged on Jack's larger shirt from last night to keep warm from the Hub's almost freezer like quality. It was too long on the man and loose around the torso, proving that Ianto still wasn't eating quite right, but Jack was still working on that.

"M' heater left the bed." Ianto groaned and, if the man had been more awake, Jack was sure he was glaring at him through closed eyes.

"Thought you might want a little more space to stretch out." Jack chuckled.

"Fuck space."

"Always so eloquent in the morning, sweetheart?"

Ianto snorted, "Yes, get your sodding ass down into the rabbit hole so Alice here can go back to bed." Jack laughed heartily before swatting Ianto on the ass and dancing out of his reach. Ianto picked up the closes thing to him, which luckily happened to be a tissue box, and tossed it at Jack, but missed.

Jack jumped down the man hole, waiting for Ianto to join him. He stood at the bottom to help as Ianto came down, but unexpectedly the duffle bag came flying down at his head. He yelped and made a hasty retreat, wanting to dodge anything else. Ianto came down next, not looking anymore awake than before, headed straight to the bed in favor of going after Jack. With a growl similar to a tired dog, he pointed at the bed through half-mast eyes until Jack faithfully stripped and climbed in. Ianto slid in next to him until they were both on their sides, curled up on the pitiful bed. "Where 're you?" His Welsh so thick Jack would have to have a jackhammer just to dent it.

"Just getting you some clothes for later today."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"So the brok'n glass?"

Oh, fuck.

Well, Jack thought, guess Ianto wasn't that asleep. He should have known better. Honestly, he shouldn't have thought Ianto any less coherent than any other time. The man could be stoned to hell and back, and still know how to fix the universe from imploding. So Jack took the weaker man's path. "You should get some more sleep rather than stay awake." Jack cheered mentally as he watched Ianto yawn.

"Brok' that ugly lamp, didn' ya?" Fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I cleaned it up though." Jack gulped.

Ianto snuggled further into Jack's hold allowing his eyes to slide shut comfortably. "Now ya see why I didn' go home." Snorting through his nose, he continued, "Knew he'd be there."

Jack's stomach bottomed out. Licking his lips nervously, he pulled Ianto closer. The man sighed in his hold, but Jack knew it was from the warmth and safety and comfort and the feeling of _home_ that they both refused to acknowledge, but knew was there. The nervousness remained even as Ianto's breathing started to even out without any signs of worry or fear.

"Ya okay, hmm?" Ianto barely got out.

"Yea, sweetheart. Yea, I'm alright. Only the lamp." It softened Jack to know that even as an immortal, this young man still worried whether a lamp is what did him in or not.

Yawning around his words, Ianto realized he had to repeat himself in _English this time_, "Good. Hated that piece of shit." Barely before the last syllable was spoken and the man was already softly snoring. Jack still felt uneasy, but relented into a doze until morning.

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><p>"Jack. Jack! <em>Jack!<em>" Jack's feet hit the floor before he was even fully awake, reaching for his gun. The only thing in the room though was a still exhausted and very irate Ianto staring him down. His arms over his chest and his hips canted to one side. His _jean_ covered hips. That were tighter than a sushi roll. And in _all the calorie burning right ways. _Ianto snapped his fingers as if Jack was a dog, "Eyes up here!"

Licking his lips unconsciously, his eyes met slightly amused, but mostly irritated ones. "What's wrong?"

"You didn't by chance grab any suits, did you?" Jack knew better than to answer. Ianto already knew; he was just fishing for the many wrong answers.

He stared for a moment, and then spoke the first thing that came to mind, "Have I mentioned that you look much younger in those jeans?" Which happened to be the _wrong _thing to say.

Ianto's face was having such a hard time this early in the morning on which expression would show how terribly _wrong_ that answer just was. The tendons in his hands were visibly flinching to either choke the man before him or throw something very hard and very heavy. All Jack could do was swallow and adopt a dopy grin, hoping that early morning _stupidness_ would be an acceptable new medical condition that only he had. "Is this all you picked up for me?"

Afraid he might say something else that could possibly make him sleep on the doorstep of Ianto's flat rather than just the sofa, he nodded. Ianto threw his hands up and spun back to the in suite bathroom. Jack thanked whoever gave a shit up there while staring at Ianto's ass. _That_ should be illegal.

"You're drooling!"

Jack ran.

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><p>After the initial Welsh stammering that turned into her leaving something in her car from Gwen and the blushing joined with Cantonese from Tosh, Ianto took off to the cells, where even Janet was staring at his ass. It wasn't his fault he got stuck in his old university jeans and some grubby band t-shirt he had stashed for out in the nightlife and it sure as hell wasn't his fault that Jack must have had to <em>dig<em> in his wardrobe to find them. Grumbling as he fed the inmates, he kept feeling like the CCTV cameras were on him. Debating on making a bet with himself on which one of the other _problematic inmates _it could be, his phone went off, alerting him of a text. Fishing it from his pocket, Ianto carelessly tapped at the screen until it blinked on.

_1 Unknown Text_

Deciding he'd take the risk of whatever it is, most likely some debtor company with the wrong number, he locked up Janet's cell with an exasperated huff of annoyance and clicked the open button on the text.

_Those jeans always did look good on you, little sparrow._

Ianto froze. His heart made a mad, clenching stop with full breaks while is diaphragm seized with unholy joy. Logically, it could be anyone else in the entire bloody universe who typed the wrong number. Hell, it could be Jack being a dumbass or Owen still drunk from last night or his old pensioner who lived in the flat across the street that just so happened to have binoculars next to the window that peered into his bedrooms. _Anyone._ Ianto found his lungs once more as they pumped harshly, resembling a panic attack. Alright, so the odds were not in his favor when it came to the nickname he once thought loving. Maybe it was another Russian man in which he had no correlation to. Ianto hissed to himself and mentally berated him for his stupidity. _Yeah Yan, maybe it's a Russian man from outer space that just so happened to get your phone number._

The phone went off in alarm again. He fiddled with it in his hands, knowing the only way this was possible. His eyes wandered up to the camera in the corner of the room staring at him. He clicked the text open.

_I want you._

Ianto took three deep breaths and turned tail. Making it up the steps into the main Hub, Owen's tenor assaulted his ears with moans of needing coffee and obviously drunk comments about how Ianto looked a _whole hell of a lot sexier in that than a suit,_ where Jack promptly offered Owen a deal. Owen vehemently declined. As calm as he could pull off, Ianto reached his desk where he loaded his gun, grabbed two spare magazines, and his keys. Tosh must have saw, because she cleared her throat suspiciously while trying not to be conspicuous. It wasn't working.

"Maybe I should get you something for that cough, Tosh." Owen poked his head over the railing to the autopsy bay.

"It's nothing, just some allergies. Although, Ianto, maybe you could help me make some tea so I know how to make it at home," Her eyes never left him or the gun he had hidden in his waist band without anyone seeing, but her.

"I'm currently out of that, but I'll just hop down to the store and pick some up." His eyes pleaded with hers. "Oh and Tosh, dear, I need you to run that Code Yellow forty one program."

Tosh looked startled, but she understood exactly what he meant.

They had come up with a security program system while bored late on winter day when Owen and Gwen had decided to send the Hub into a lockdown my toying with alien technology that _both Ianto and Tosh had clearly said not to._ They sat with a spare computer making up colours and numbers and crazy names for some of the most simplistic of security protocols that would one day come in handy. Code Yellow forty one just happened to mean that someone needed to be followed cautiously on a computer as they moved about. Ianto had come up with the forty one representing the two Torchwood facilities that had 'passed on;' Four and One. Tosh came up with the yellow representing the caution on a stop light.

Alcohol had been involved in the naming process.

Jack perked up as soon as Ianto in his, what he now deems the _Holy Grail of Clothing Articles,_ jeans had walked in. The mentioning of Ianto going out and a program starting sent alarms off in his mind. With all the air of an employer and Captain, he narrowed his eyes at the two, "What exactly is Code Yellow forty one?"

"Just a simple test to track down artifacts in the Archives faster."

Jack watched every movement Ianto did very carefully. He couldn't say he was a professional on Jonesian, the language of all Jones, but he knew plenty about that _body_. Yet, Jack could never be sure. Jack was sure of it though. Ianto Jones should have been in Hollywood. They could have played him in a sort of _Die Hard_ action thriller, but with aliens in which Ianto would save the world many times over without anyone knowing, and dressed as a cowboy. With _tight_ leather chaps. Wasted opportunities.

"Would you like Owen or someone else to go out and get some tea?" Owen's squawk of protest was ignored between the penetrating gaze Ianto had just turned on Jack. It was searching and defensive. The same look he got right after Lisa when he showed up unannounced on Ianto's doorstep with take out and aspirin. The same look he got right after the cannibals. The same look after John. The same look after his return with the Doctor. _Now_, Jack knew shit was about to go down. And it was going to end _nasty._

"It's fine. I'll only be a minute."

Ianto trudged out the heavy door, intent on ending whatever this was becoming. Yet, he knew that with Kane, the least expected was reality. Walking slowly to his car, and checking his surroundings, he waited for what he knew was coming. _Ding!_

Tapping his phone to life once more, he popped the text open.

_Warehouse 17, 214 N. and Center Streets. The car is safe._

Running his fingers under the ridge of his door handle, just in case, assured him very little, but he flipped the handle and released it instantly. When the car didn't explode to Kingdom Come, or make a ticking noise, he got in and turned her ignition over with the door open. Slamming on the gas was probably a bad idea with how the squealing would resonate through the parking garage and alert anyone watching that something other than a quick jot down to the _Co-Op_, but he had other things on his mind.

Jack's attention fell on Tosh quicker than a rabid ADHD squirrel seeing crayons. He stared her down as he approached slowly. Tosh tried to her best not to look conspicuous, but her attempts failed when a heavy hand settled on her shoulder and Gwen's gossip radar went off, poking her head just above her computer to look at Tosh and Jack. Even Owen knew shit was going down as his eyes popped up over the railing of the Autopsy Bay. He had to be standing on tip toes or on a book he never read, but secretly used as a step stool. "Toshiko."

Tosh licked her lips and swallowed slowly. She knew that voice; the one that always commands answers while sounding like a scolding father. "Yes, Jack?" She squeaked unwillingly.

* * *

><p>Jack smiled triumphantly. He knew he won with an unfair advantage, but he still won, and that could mean life or death for Ianto. His stomach gave an uneasy turn. "What is Code Yellow forty one? Really?"<p>

Tosh cracked faster than Humpty Dumpty, but in her case, there were not going to be any handsome King's men to put her back together again. She didn't see Gwen in that way and Owen was as far from a knight in shining armor as humanly possible. Which left the only true shining hero, whom might actually be a shadowy rogue, Ianto, but he wasn't there to dash away with her in his fiery, red, six-speed stead. Tosh could go on for ages about how amazing Ianto is and how lucky she is to have him as a friend. "It's a tracking device that connects to someone's personal mobile phone or vehicle!"

Jack's brow rose in interest, but Gwen spoke up first, "So Ianto is tracking someone?"

"No," Tosh shook her head as if it was the most logical thing in the world, "_I'm_ tracking _him."_

"But that doesn't make sense. Can't you just call him? He's only going to the mart real quick."

Tosh sighed at the intelligence levels she had to deal with outside her personal sphere of Ianto, her, and some geeks she talks to on the internet about new games online. "If I'm tracking him than obviously he isn't going to the mart."

"Then where is he?" Jack growled, breaking up the argument between the two ladies.

She brought up the program and entered a specific code for Ianto's car. "Looks like a warehouse on North and-."

The Rift alarm went off. Tosh pulled up the readings, "Two Weevils near a primary school down on South End."

"Gwen, you and Owen, take the Weevils. Tosh you stay here to relay information." Jack swept his greatcoat up and holstered his gun.

"What about you?" Owen questioned, but he already knew the answer.

"Bringing home my tea boy."

* * *

><p>Kane stood there in his sports jacket and graphic shirt and the pants that Ianto and he had smeared paint on after a playful fight turned into something more as they painted the walls to their new flat. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning. He seemed relax, but with that underlying stance of alertness. It was the type of look someone has when they are taking inventory. He was looking for changes, the sign of age, scars, and things of remembrance.<p>

Ianto, he suspects, looked the same way.

Kane made the first move; just a step. Ianto knew this game well; knew that Kane was testing his boundaries, getting a feel of the lay before he made his strike. This time, Ianto wasn't going to stand down or roll over. He wasn't going to bow. Ianto picked up a gait that was more of a swagger with silent confidence and hidden danger. Kane tipped his head back in acknowledgement and a raised brow of surprise. Ianto was going to make sure he took control of this game, and he was sure that he could. _Knew_ that he could. One foot in front of the other with a slight sway of his hips and the straight back with the squared shoulders. All it is a game, he kept as a mantra.

Soon, Kane's footsteps joined his. They were pulling towards one another in a resemblance of a star carelessly moving towards a planet; it's gently caress of promised destruction. Their gravitational force grew until their bodies collided. Sharp bites and forced mashing of lips. Their hands tugged at the other's clothes, clawing, scratching, and digging. They gripped one another close while trying to push the other away. It was a familiar battle of wills, just with more enthusiasm; more power. Shirts were pushed up over firm chests, but not removed, and wandering hands played close to the tops of jeans.

Ianto was picked up into strong arms as he attacked the other man's neck. His limber legs wrapped around Kane's hips. Kane started moving towards something, but Ianto was preoccupied with tugging at his hair and latched his teeth into Kane's neck. Once he collided with something solid against the back of his thighs did he then pay attention. The desk he was sat on was dirty with dust and debris, but it didn't seem to bother either man. Ianto lay back as Kane's hands drifted to his belt.

The resounding _click_ of guns cocking broke the silence.

Ianto had stolen Kane's revolver from its hidden holster and had it pushed against Kane's heart. On the other hand, Kane had tugged Ianto's handgun from his waist band and had settled it against his forehead. Ianto smirked up at the other man, "Touché."

Kane's laugh reverberated in the empty spaces of the warehouse, "Suppose we are at a standstill, except," Kane licked his lips while he move the handgun into Ianto's inner thigh, "my gun isn't loaded." He pulled the trigger.

All there was, was a _click_ of the unarmed gun going off.

"So was mine."

Ianto smiled. Slamming the now useless revolver into Kane's shoulder, he got enough space and movement to rear back a leg then kick out with all the force he could into Kane's abdomen. The man staggered a few steps back in order to keep his balance, but dropped the handgun. Sliding down to the floor quickly, Ianto picked up his discarded handgun and shoved a full clip into it. He spun around to face Kane, who had also gone for his gun and reloaded it. The two just stared at one another, guns unwavering.

"You could come back to me. It doesn't have to be like this. You could leave that pitiful male whore and come back to where you belong."

"He's a better man than you ever were or will be."

"He could barely hold his own against me."

"Not everything is about strength or power."

"Then he's made you weak like a no good, begging slut."

Two guns shots echoed in the large space. Ianto leaned to one side as a bullet bit into the flesh of his ribs, just a flesh wound. Kane's two handed hold on the revolver loosened as one arm took a bullet in the shoulder and the grip fell. However, both men never let their stare wavier. From the point of a bystander, it would have looked choreographed. In perfect synch, the two men dropped their guns and lunged at the other, spitting, hissing, kicking, and punching. Pure sweat and muscle and power and hatred and brimstone clashed together in fists and flesh. Ianto finally got the upper hand as he flipped Kane over and pinned him.

"Ianto!" Jack's voice rung out in the warehouse.

"Jack!" Too surprised, Ianto dropped his guard to look up and find Jack, but before he realized his mistake, Kane was on top of him with a knife. Jack appeared from a hallway within a heartbeat, gun drawn, and pointed at Kane. "Let him go!"

Kane smirked at Jack, digging the knife a hair's breathe into Ianto's throat. "Thought we already had this conversation. Ianto is coming back to me." Carefully lifting up his sleeve, Kane stared down at Ianto fiercely.

Jack's heart turned to ice at the leather wrist band around Kane's arm. It was a Time Agent's Vortex Manipulator, but not just any Time Agent's, it was a commanders.

Kane hit a button on the wrist band. He and Ianto disappeared into a flash of gold, before Jack could even get a round off. "Ianto!"

Jack pressed buttons over and over again, Tosh screaming in his ear. Ianto's signature was not appearing anywhere on Earth. Crumpling to his knees, Jack persisted. He typed the same commands over again and again, looking for signatures, or Time Agent serials. Each time the readings were the same; negative. Jack felt panic choke him, his breathing ragged and his heart beat stuttering with fright. Wiping at his eyes every few minutes, Jack continued on even after Tosh had resigned herself to crying in Jack's ear. He only stopped long enough to move from the freezing cement floor to Ianto's vehicle, where it smelt like Ianto, and where his desperation took control. For hours he sat there checking again and again for anything. But nothing ever showed.

He locked Ianto's car, leaving it for when, not _if_, Ianto came back, he had some way to come _home._ He didn't remember driving nor did he know how exactly he got back to the Hub, but the SUV sat unharmed next to Gwen's car and Ianto's empty space. _Don't think about it._ His limbs felt like lead as his footsteps echoed loudly, _too_ loudly. He dropped himself onto the sofa behind Tosh's workspace, where Tosh, herself, sat. Owen and Gwen must have been told what had happened somewhere along the way, as Gwen's lips trembled feebly and Owen's normal attitude was muted.

They sat around for another three hours, talking, planning, and sitting in silence. Jack continued to check about on his wristband, but nothing showed. Owen had called it quits that night, dragging Gwen home to Rhys, while Tosh stayed with Jack on the sofa. The two stayed in quiet companionship; Tosh's sobs muted and Jack's uncomprehending speechlessness rendering the area silent. Only a couple of hours later and Owen returned. He sat next to Tosh and pulled her against him, just waiting. "You know the tea-boy. Bloody bastard will be back before it's bright and early for work. Act as if nothing happened with a flip of his God damn hand and a roll of his eyes. All posh suits and sarcasm."

Gwen came back half an hour later, with fresh coffee that no one really touched cause it felt all too familiar, and sat at Tosh's abandoned station. Her eyes still red and puffy and her mouth opened to speak what no one wanted to hear, but the look on Jack's face must have stopped her from saying all the things on her tongue.

Jack couldn't think; didn't know what to do. He didn't want to place a name for the feelings he shouldn't be having. It wasn't right; the clenching of his heart and the sick twisting feeling in his stomach. He knew what they were, but he didn't want to admit it, especially to himself. He was Captain Jack Bloody Harkness, and God dammit, he was not supposed to do monogamy and special occasions and depending on people and wanting to do everything and anything for them and wanting to be domesticated and wanting a home with someone else outside the Hub and God buggering dammit, _love._ The great immortal of everything _wrong_ and _fixed point in time_ shouldn't want to settle down and _fall in love_ with a mortal that would _leave him wretchedly heartbroken._ But he did and Ianto did and now he was _stuck_.

* * *

><p>They must have knocked off as a group, because once the Rift alarms went off, all of them groggy eyed and yawning, jumped from their skins. Tosh scrambled over her own feet to get to her sleeping computer, shrugging a slow moving Gwen just out of her way to look over the readings. Her gasp caught the other's attentions. Mumbling to herself as she clacked away at her keyboard, sent Jack prodding at buttons on his wristband until the damn thing finally <em>dinged.<em> Surprisingly though, his phone rang first with an unexpected name on caller ID.

"Ianto?"

"Stay right where you are and tell Owen to be ready with a med-kit." Ianto sounded tired and edgy, but whole and alright and _here._ He hung up on Jack, leaving him confused, but excited.

Before he could finish giving out orders, the familiar golden glow of the Rift appeared in the middle of the Hub as something _very heavy_ dropped to the metal grating that sent a pounding reverberation through the Hub. The suspension of the vehicle took the blow easily as it bounced from a couple feet fall. However, it wasn't the fact that Ianto's car just dropped into the middle of the Hub through a golden portal from God knows where, but the fact that said man was sitting, hunched over on the hood of the vehicle, grimacing from the jostling.

"Ianto!" His feet took him unconsciously to the man before reasonable thought caught up. Scooping the man into his arms, he started to give him a crushing hug when teeth sunk into his shoulder, forcing him to back up.

"Dammit, Jack, careful!" Ianto was growling like a wet cat with more of a look of pain than anger on his face. That's when Jack realized the bloodied spots across Ianto's shirt and jeans; even some with holes that looked far too similar to bullet holes for Jack's liking. While Owen went about cursing and spitting about Ianto's complete lack of self-perseverance and questioning if he could ever, just once, not get himself harmed in some way, Jack had settled to holding Ianto's hand, refusing to let go.

"There are only two bullet wounds, but they're clean through and through." Owen said in his most formal doctor's tone possible after patching up the last cut and graze. "Take it slow and easy for the next few days." He patted Ianto on the shoulder and handed him two of the good pain relievers. "Care to tell us what happened? Or where you went?"

Ianto couldn't help himself. His face lite up into the _Devil may care_ grin that made him look madder than a hatter, making Owen take a step back. "Found out Captain John Hart is a bloody child at heart." He pushed himself off the hood of his car where Owen was cleaning him up.

"Huh?"

Ianto shrugged with one shoulder while his other hand tightened around Jack's tugging him closer. Using his free hand, Ianto fished something out of his pocket and tossed it at Owen, who caught it swiftly. "I'm tired." He pulled Jack behind him; heading to Jack's sleeping space.

"Where did you get this?" Owen called to him, dangling the purple and green mouse looking keychain from his finger.

"Disneyland," Ianto snorted, "From Vegas Four."

* * *

><p>The two had settled down carefully; Jack making sure he didn't touch any of Ianto's wounds. He eyed the two wristbands resting on the small table next to the bed as Ianto breathed slow and even in sleep. His hand strayed on its own as it wandered up and down Ianto's spine. Just to feel Ianto's pulse under his finger tips and the shifting of muscle under skin calmed Jack, soothing him from the day's earlier scare. He pressed his lips to Ianto's temple, leaving them there.<p>

"Thinkin' way too loud, git."

Jack chuckled. Same old Yan. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"Hmm." Ianto yawned into Jack's neck, scraping teeth down his throat as if on accident, but Jack knew better. "W'at's wrong?"

"What happened?" That seemed to wake Ianto faster than ice cold water.

Breathing in deeply and exhaling loudly, Ianto stalled for time. "Got teleported somewhere, fought a little, then got my hands on the wristband. Teleported myself to the nearest planet."

"But how did you know how to use the wristband?"

Ianto snorted, "I know everything."

Jack looked skeptical, "You're telling me you could have used my wristband whenever you wanted?"

"Thank you Torchwood One's Archives. That's where _he _got that one. It's why I knew how to use that one in particularly."

Jack swallowed, knowing that this could go wrong at any moment. "What happened to him?"

Silence followed and Ianto's body tensed.

"Sweetheart?"

"He won't be bothering us anymore," Something dark rung in Ianto's words that sent shivers down Jack's spine, but sent his heart aflutter with the use of _us._ "So, can I keep it?"

Jack's mind stumbled over the change in topic, "The wristband?"

"Yeah, why not? I know how to use the damn thing." He sounded more calm and relaxed; groggy even.

"I suppose," Jack pouted and whined, "But this means yours is bigger and has more stamina!"

Smirking, Ianto leaned closer to Jack, "Could show you something else like that," He bit into the soft skin of Jack's throat over his pulse.

Jack grinned devilishly, "Could do it in the backseat of your car and not even leave the Hub."

Pushing himself up, Ianto smiled triumphantly, "Race you." He took off at a bolt.

"Hey!" Jack untangled himself to follow. "And you have to tell me about Disneyland!"


End file.
